


Deadly Adonis

by origamigoose



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Suicide Attempt, happy-ish ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:19:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7263973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/origamigoose/pseuds/origamigoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is out of recovery, and he's got places to be and people to see.</p><p>Okay, so I wrote this at like five in the morning after two days of sleepless nights. So try not to judge too harshly.<br/>All my love, GS. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deadly Adonis

      You lay in the stark white hospital room, on the bed that you can’t get comfortable in. Your hands are laid gently on the Cheshire smile like cut along your abdomen.  
You believe you should’ve died, instead of her. Abigail. You know somewhere inside yourself that the Abigail in front of you isn’t real. That she exists purely to remind you of the fact that she’s dead and you’re not. And you know you’ll never forgive yourself for that.  
      Months pass in recovery, the faux Abigail always by your side. Helping you plan how to find him. When you’re finally released to go home you mail the letter you wrote weeks ago. Your resignation from the FBI. You pack your bags and buy a plain ticket for the end of the week. You’re ready, or at least you think you are. There’s only one last place to go before leaving Baltimore and Wolf Trap. Possibly for good.  
      You stand at the front door of his house as if expecting him to invite you in for coffee. You use the key he gave you and open the door. You thought you were ready to see what was inside… but somehow tears still crept to the corners of your eyes. It was exactly the same as it always had been. Nothing’s out of place, it’s like he should be sitting right at his desk. You move to the kitchen. The last place where you were still you, Abigail was still alive, and Hannibal still trusted you. You slide your back down the wall by the door. You look at Abagail, her appearance changes from the fake to the real. She doesn't have a scar anymore, it’s just blood. Everywhere. She reaches up to touch your face and that’s when you realize you’ve started to cry. As you wipe away your tears she disappears. Gone, again.  
      Back at home, you look at the few pictures you have of him. Some from newspaper articles, others you have sneakily taken on your cell. You put the pictures of him away. You intend on seeing him in person.  
      You sleep most of the plane ride, a gift from the whisky provided. You only remember dreaming of him. Standing over you, knife still in hand, and a Cheshire grin as big as the one on your stomach. You wake with a jerk, reaching under the pillow that you don’t have. A knee jerk reaction to reach for your gun ingrained from years of practice. The stewardess stood back with a look of shock on her face.  
      “Sorry…” You mumble as you rub your eyes.  
      “It’s alright, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave the plane. We landed a few minutes ago.” She said.  
      “Thanks.” You say as you get up and grab your carry on.  
      You pick up your luggage and hail a cab. When you get to your hotel you tell the cabbie to wait. You check in and toss your luggage in your room before leaving for the cab.  
      “Norman Chapel.” You instruct the driver. The drive is long and quiet, save the phone call he received in the car. Jack urged you to do him a favor and cover this one case since you’re already there. He promises to be there as soon as possible, he just needs someone there until then. You reluctantly agree.  
       You pay the fair and walk up the steps to the doors. At this church you feel close to God. Close to Hannibal. You feel at peace with whatever the world has in store for you.  
       There’s a crowd of cops surrounding the center of the room. You push through and flash the one FBI badge that you ‘accidently’ forgot to turn in. In the middle, there’s a body, only not a body. It’s shaped like a heart and swear you can see it beat in rhythm with yours. You have no doubt in your mind that it’s him.  
      “Please clear the room.” You say to an officer, he looks concerned for a moment but then starts giving orders to have the room cleared.  
      You close your eyes and start the playback. You see him breaking every bone in this man's body to contort him in such a way. You know him. You know he’ll want a show, he’ll want to see your reaction. You look around and see the door to the catacombs drifting close. You run after it. You run after him. You run until you’re sure you’ll never find a way back out. But you know he can hear you, so you talk to him as though he were right in front of you.  
      “Hannibal,” you start off weakly “I miss her. I miss Abigail. I can’t ever have her back… because of you. But for some reason, I can’t make myself hate you. I just want to say… I miss you too. I forgive you, and I miss you… and I know that if I don’t say this now I never will.” You’re fidgeting with your sleeves, you’re tired and swaying side to side with exhaustion but you won't let your eyes close. “Hannibal. I loved you. I loved you so much. I don’t know if it’s salvageable, but it’s yours. I’m yours. God… I hate the way you make me feel. So vulnerable.” You turn to leave, trying to weave yourself back through the labyrinth of corridors. You stop for a moment when you hear steps behind you.  
      “Hello, Will.” You don’t turn because God knows you’re not mentally prepared to see him without picturing his face while cutting her throat.  
      “Hannibal.” You say stiffly.  
      “Look at me Will.” He says with an undertone of pleading. You shake your head.  
      “I can’t. Not right now. If I look I’m not going to see you, I’m going to see the man who killed our daughter.” Your voice shakes, and your body is wrecked. You’re tired, and you know you shouldn’t. But you turn. “But that was you,” you say angrily “You killed our daughter. You killed her! I hate you!” And suddenly you’re on him, pounding your fists into his chest, pushing him. Trying to make him feel how you feel. You want to hurt him. “She was mine! I loved her and you killed her! Why didn’t you kill me? Why?” You’re sobbing, and you’re no longer fighting him. You just let him hold you.  
      “I’m sorry, dear William.” He whispers into your ear. You push him off, anger flaring once again.  
      “Just because you’re sorry doesn't change shit.” You say as you turn back away from him. “If I were you, I get as far away from this cathedral as possible, unless you want to be seen.” Those are your last words to him as you leave the catacombs.  
      In your hotel room you down a bottle of whisky you picked up on the way back from the cathedral. No fingers, no glasses. Just the bottle and the readiness to drown yourself away. You open the balcony door. You look out over the city, admiring the lights. You think you’ve finally come to peace with the fact that you shouldn’t be alive. And you’re ready to embrace it after this afternoon. Your chest isn’t weighed down.  
      You climb up on the railing that separates you from life and certain death. Straddling that line you feel more in control than you ever had. Your hands are pressed against the concrete base of the room above you. A swift gust of wind could push you off the ledge. You let one hand fall but keep the other one steady.  
      “I’m sorry.” You whisper to no one. Just to the wind, knowing the only person you want to apologize to is dead. Just like you should be.  
      You let the other hand slip, and you’re falling. Through the wind, you think you hear your name.  
      You open your eyes and you’re back on your bed, covered in sweat and clutching the sheets. There’s a figure at the end of your bed. You know without a doubt it’s him. Whether it's the smell or the familiar rhythm of his breathing.  
      “I followed you. I know I should be so far away by now that it would be impossible to find me. But I want to say I am truly apologetic about taking Abigail away from you. From us.” He turns to look at you, and whether it’s the shadows cast on his face or the weariness of running for so long. But he looks so much older. “Will, I want you to run with me. I want you to stay with me. I want to fix this.” His eyes look hopeful but tired.  
      “No.” You shake your head. “It’s not that easy, you can't fix this.” Hannibal sighs, and for a moment you swear you see him wipe his eyes. “Hannibal… stay with me. Even if just for tonight. Stay.” You don’t know where it comes from, but you know you mean it. He nods and climbs into bed with you. He curls around your back and you feel safe. You fall asleep easily with his arms around you. No more nightmares.  
      In the morning when you wake up he is still curled around you asleep. You turn gently and put your forehead against his. His eyelids flutter open. When he sees you he smiles.  
      “Yes.” You say. “I’ll go with you… on one condition.” The look of hope returns to Hannibal's eyes once again.  
      “Anything.” He says.  
      “You stay with me. We’re going to fix this… this backwards broken thing we are. And when we get caught, we go down together. When the time comes we stop running.” You say.  
      “I believe I can manage that, Will.” He says as he leans close and kisses your forehead. “I’ll stay. No matter the outcome.”


End file.
